


Mixing Up A Batch

by pantsoffdanceoff



Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Humor, Gen, Marijuana, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:39:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8878072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantsoffdanceoff/pseuds/pantsoffdanceoff
Summary: Katy runs out of weed on a Monday, dumps Reilly and Jonesy on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, remembers that there’s fuck-all else to do in Letterkenny instead. Fuck. Then again, as her cousin always says, idle hands find beans to flick.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [in48frames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/in48frames/gifts).



Katy runs out of weed on a Monday, dumps Reilly and Jonesy on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, remembers that there’s fuck-all else to do in Letterkenny instead. Fuck. Then again, as her cousin always says, idle hands find beans to flick.

“...like, kidney beans?” says Darry, actually forgetting to dig for that last spoonful of yoghurt.

Wayne’s got both eyes squeezed shut, looking nothing so much as Abe Lincoln straining on his porcelain throne. She tells him so.

“That shit’s marble,” says Wayne, pained.

“If you say so,” she says.

“You knows what’s I appreciates about you, Katy?” adds Dan, helpfully, “I appreciates that you knows the mineral composition of American presidential shits.”

“Is that what you appreciate about me?” says Katy, and leaves them to it so she can palm Wayne’s car keys unnoticed in the ensuing argument, shoo away the dogs and goats sniffing at her pockets, and rev up the Sierra for a rip.

Letterkenny’s humming with energy, even with the sun barely up. Fog curls around the neat bales of corn stalks, and the maple trees are red-faced, straining to get as much sugar in their sap as’ll last the winter. She blows through town, out the other side where the road turns to potholes again, the truck vibrating like the restless bounce in her leg, dying to get anywhere, anywhere at all.

 _Kenhteke 18_ , reads the road sign.

“Why not?” she says to herself, and turns the radio up a little more.

\---

“Well, you’d make one piss poor pigeon,” says Tanis, looking like a woken cat, grumpy and ruffled, “Get lost finding home?”

“Your dad said I could find you here,” says Katy, sticking her foot in the door just in case, “Lady at the gas station might’ve helped too.”

Tanis squints at her suspiciously. “Why?”

“To buy weed,” says Katy.

Tanis shuts the door in her face.

Or tries to, blinks down a moment at Katy’s yellow Timberlands, and tries again. “Fuck,” she says, rubbing an eye, “This better be a nightmare. What time is it, even?”

“Just after seven,” says Katy, following Tanis down a hall into a violently-wallpapered kitchen, where Tanis stabs a few times at a coffee machine before it gurgles to life.

“This is--” is all Katy manages before Tanis cuts her off with a pinching hand motion.

“Not until after I’ve had my first coffee,” she says.

So Katy parks her ass in one of the hand-carved chairs, props her feet up on another, and leans back to study the popcorn-textured ceiling.

They didn’t have much entertainment back when they were kids, Wayne and she, so they made do with whatever was at hand. Pillow forts, mock battles with the dogs, and when they were really bored, finding faces in the walls and ceilings.

She’s trying to figure out if a shadow’s a nose or a cheek when Tanis kicks her feet off the chair and glares over the edge of a chipped mug. _-ertin Tractor & Combin-_ it reads, and underneath, _-wee Champions of 20-_. She says, muffled, “Start talking.”

Katy shrugs. “Wanted to buy some weed. Wally said he was out, told me to come find you.”

Silence. Katy looks up to find Tanis casting some pretty judgmental looks for someone about to rake in some easy dough. Katy says, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“How much?” says Tanis, still not looking especially moved.

“Twenty five for a dime bag,” says Katy, “And I’ll take two.”

Tanis blinks and drains her coffee mug like it’s water. “Deal.”

Her palm’s warm when they shake on it.

\---

Rolling a joint’s practically a reflex by now, just filter, roll, lick, pack--almost before Tanis even drops the plastic baggies in her lap. Katy’s already got the lighter kissing the blunt in her mouth before she thinks to ask, “Mind if I light one up?”

“Sure,” says Tanis, sarcasm as brittle as dab, “Mi casa es tu casa.”

Katy spins the spark wheel, sucking in her first lungful of smooth, rich smoke. It must be stronger than usual, making her giggle at Tanis’s confused frown when Katy offers the joint to her. “Well, get at ‘er. Help me finish a doob.”

Tanis plucks it out of Katy’s hand and hollows her cheeks around it, joint balanced elegantly between two fingers. Her shoulders slowly soften as she hands the joint back, and Katy takes another heady drag.

She’s not at a point where she sees things in the wallpaper, and she’s certainly not stupid enough to get that high before having to drive back home, but there’s no reason not to point out, “Hey, anyone ever tell you have John A. Macdonald in your ceiling?”

Tanis lets out a surprised huff of smoke. “Shit, no one told me you were a lightweight.”

“Saw it when I came in,” says Katy. She points. “Over there, by the cabinet, you see the nose? And the--” she tries to demonstrate, “hair?”

Tanis tilts her head up, exposing miles of slender throat. “Huh. Don’t think I’ve ever seen the Prime Minister look so...”

She tilts her head. Katy supplies, “...drunk?”

Tanis snorts and offers her the joint, filter first, which...huh. She didn’t even remember passing it in the first place. Tanis says, “Sure. I was going to say, Potato Jesus.”

Katy coughs out a laugh practically before she can even taste the smoke. Tanis’s lips curve up. She takes another look at the ceiling, and yeah, none of the features really line up, no matter where you try to draw ‘em. One eye’s bigger than the other, caterpillar eyebrows snaking all over the place, and where’s the mouth really?

A plume of blue smoke takes care of it, hazing out everything. Tanis rolls the joint between her fingers, burnt almost down to the filter, her hair loose and tousled, her eyes sleepy and lidded, luxuriating like a queen in her domain.

Katy swallows. “I should get going.”

She squeezes through the narrow hallway back out to the pickup, where the eggplants in the back are probably already starting to shrivel.

\---

She doesn’t mean to stop in town, but well, there’s a lot more activity around Modean’s Roadhouse than she’d expect around noon on a Wednesday. Maggie’s cousin bobs his head as he ducks through the doorway, hauling a roll of carpeting with him. Inside, the bar look practically gutted.

“What’s all this?” she asks Gail.

“Took a trip down south so a guy could take a trip down south on me,” says Gail, licking her lips, “Gave him the ole 68 special. You know, when a guy goes down on you and--”

“Hey, Gail, where’s this going?” says Darry, struggling with an armful of metal t-bars.

“What’re you doing here?” says Katy.

“In the back corner, where the stainless steel countertops are,” says Gail, “Anyway, we were smoking a bowl of real dank ganja afterwards, when he started getting a real craving for some greasy bar food.”

“So, you’re adding a kitchen,” says Katy, trying to follow her logic, “Because your fuckbuddy got the munchies.”

There’s a knock on what remains of the front door. Katy turns to see what looks like half an Ed Hardy window display ooze into the bar. Douche Hardy says, “What’s hanging, home skillet?”

“You, I’m sure,” says Gail, grabbing a not-at-all-subtle handful of the dude’s ass, “You got the goodies?”

“For sure,” says Douche Hardy, unloading handfuls of paper packages out of his bedazzled messenger bag. There’s something familiar about what little of his face isn’t hidden by mirrored aviators.

“You see, Katy, it’s more than that,” says Gail, “I’m bringing the demand right to the supply.”

 _Maui Wowie Pineapple Delights_ , she reads on one of the packages, _Handmade by Om Yum Edibles_.

“Hey, Gail, I’m not seeing the--the fuck are you doing here,” says Darry, voice turning flat. He’s glaring at Edibles Hardy, who finally pushes up his sunglasses.

“Oh, fuck right off,” says Katy. It’s fucking Angie’s new boyfriend, because of course it fucking is.

“It’s a free country,” says Nolan, eyes darting between the three of them, “Wayne can bitch all he wants, but it’s not like he can stop me from going about my business.”

Wayne loves three things in his life--his family, his friends, and for some reason, Angie, still. (Well, and fighting, but he’s trying to cut down on that again, for reason Katy doesn’t care to understand.) She’d fight anyone Angie picked over Wayne any day, but fuck this dude in particular, with his sequined belt buckle and his fake Hawaiian bullshit.

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit about that,” says Darry, “You step foot in this town and it’s my business too.”

Nolan’s already backing up towards the door. He tries, “Gail, home slice, you gotta put a stop to this, c’mon.”

Gail smiles and says, “Daryl, I’ll pay you double if there’s mud involved.”

Darry barely gets a nod out before Nolan’s rushing out the door like a swarm of bees are after him. Katy grabs Gail before she can follow them outside. Gail says, “What’s the matter, don’t want to see some mud wrestling?”

Katy wrinkles her nose. “Well, no, but I was wondering. You don’t have to buy shit from him, do you?”

Gail turns to face her. “Well, I was buying from him mostly because that ass is like a hand magnet, but what, you offering?”

“Well, I might know a few people,” says Katy, with hopefully more confidence than she feels, “I’ll show you samples in a week, and you decide if you want them.”

“Deal,” says Gail, shaking her hand, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some live-action pay-per-view to watch.”

\---

“Do I need to buy you a fucking compass or what?” says Tanis, squinting. The morning light picks up red highlights in her loosely-curling hair.

Katy hefts the straining paper bags in her arms. “I’ve got flour, sugar, vanilla extract, eggs, butter, oil and parchment paper. Please tell me you’ve got a baking pan because I went up and down all of Loblaw’s aisles and they didn’t have a single goddamn one.”

“The fuck would I need a baking pan for,” says Tanis, flatly.

“Uh, to bake?” says Katy, waiting for Tanis to move aside so she can lug the bags to the kitchen. They’re fucking heavy. “Well? Pitter patter, let’s get at 'er.”

It’s not until she’s balanced everything on what available space there is in Tanis’s kitchen that she realizes she’s forgotten one crucial ingredient.

“You know how to make cannabutter?” says Katy.

“Why would I know how to make cannabutter?” says Tanis. “In fact, why are you trying to make cannabutter in my kitchen?”

Katy sighs. “Modean’s Roadhouse’s looking for an edibles supplier. It’s not a bad gig, a couple hundred customers that come in on the regular, so I figured, well, why not you?”

“Sure, as opposed to all the other dealers you know,” says Tanis, “What’s the catch?”

Katy fidgets, the linoleum creaking under her feet. “What do you mean?”

“How big of a cut do you want?” says Tanis.

A cut? “Well, aren’t you putting all your eggs in one basket?” huffs Katy, “You don’t even know if Gail’ll buy your cannabutter or not.”

“Oh, she’ll like my cannabutter all right,” says Tanis, rolling up her sleeves, “Watch, I’ll make a butter that’ll blow her socks right off.”

\---

“You think,” says Katy, then has to try to remember what her point was in the first place, “You think we might’ve boiled it too long?”

“Shit, we only used--it was half an ounce, right?” says Tanis, “How the hell is it so strong?”

“Socks,” says Katy, wiggling her toes. Shit, she can’t even feel her feet.

“Fuzzy,” agrees Tanis. Her hair tickles Katy’s nose.

\---

“Ladies,” says Gail, “Oh my, is that my Christmas present? You shouldn’t have.”

She’s staring right at Tanis, sitting rigidly at the bar. Tanis gives Katy the mother of all side-eyes.

“Gail, this is Tanis, my business partner,” says Katy, “We’re here to talk about that deal we made a week ago. Tanis, this is Gail, owner of Modean Roadhouse.”

“Honey, you can call me cake,” says Gail, leaning closer, not even acknowledging Katy, “’Cause I’m going straight to your ass.”

“Right,” says Tanis, raising her eyebrows, “We did some field testing, and made a mix we’re pretty sure you’re going to be satisfied with.”

She produces a saran-wrapped cylinder of avocado-green butter and slides it across the table. “Ten bucks a stick.”

“What’s this?” says Gail, picking at the wrapping, “Do I hand it to customers and tell them it's pre-lubed?”

 Katy blinks. “Well, you have a kitchen, don’t you?”

“Gail doesn’t run a dispensary,” says Gail, “Besides, what kind of license do I even apply for to put it in food?”

“So you were planning on what, handing out goods and accepting cash ‘donations’?” says Tanis.

“Smart cookie,” says Gail, licking her finger far more thoroughly than necessary, “Mm, this is good shit. Tell you what, I’ll write you a check to cover whatever business expenses you’ve incurred, and we’ll... _reconvene_ next week.”

\---

“No,” says Tanis.

“Look, we’ve got two dozen more cookies to test,” says Katy, “And it’s not going to be objective if we’re only going by my tastebuds.”

“No,” says Tanis, “I am done with vanilla. My entire kitchen--no, my entire house smells like vanilla. My coffee tastes like vanilla. My bannock tastes like vanilla. If I put anything with vanilla in my mouth, I am going to spew an entire fucking vanilla orchid.”

“Well,” says Katy, sighing, “What if we tried another batch without van--”

“No,” says Tanis, “Fuck, I’m gonna go smoke a dart.”

Katy sighs and looks around the kitchen. Every square inch of counter and table space is covered in rows of cookies, including a rack cooling over the sink, labeled with ratios. There was something about the taste of the strain Tanis used that refused to work with, or be covered by, sugar and vanilla.

Maybe they were going a little overboard, Katy thinks, unrolling more saran wrap to cover the cookies. But they needed something to show Gail in two days, and they’re not any closer to finding a solution than when they started.

She sticks her head out the back door, where Tanis is wreathed in cigarette smoke.

“I was thinking of going out for dinner if you wanted to get away from the smell,” says Katy. Tanis blows a plume of smoke in the opposite direction, a tendon in her neck standing out. “My treat.”

They end up at the diner attached to the gas station, because it’s the only place still open. It’s a little dim and a lot empty, but the table’s clean and Katy can amuse herself squeaking along the vinyl seats.

“Meat loaf’s not bad,” says Katy, when the silence grows too long.

“My cousin makes it herself,” says Tanis, between bites of her mashed potato. Her sandwich is long gone. “Hot sauce too.”

“Who’s your cousin?” says Katy.

Tanis nods towards the “Employees Only” door, where their server--also Gas Station Lady--had disappeared.

“Huh,” says Katy, thoughtfully. She dashes a little of the bright red sauce on her meat loaf and takes a bite.

It’s tangy and smoky, with a bit of sweetness poking through. The heat takes a while to kick in, but so does a blend of spices. She chews thoughtfully. “You know,” she says, as Tanis looks up curiously, “I’m pretty sure this work pretty well with the butter. Or not butter. You think we could try again with oil?”

Tanis’s expression shutters.

“Sorry,” says Katy, shrugging, “I’ll stop bringing it up. But the only other option is to switch strains, and--”

Tanis’s fork clatters onto her plate.

“What exactly is this about?” says Tanis, folding her hands one over the other.

“Trying to find a solution that doesn’t involve cookies?” says Katy, baffled.

“No, I mean,” Tanis sighs through her nose, “Why are you helping me?”

The ceiling fan clacks as it turns, low and mocking. Someone, possibly Tanis’s cousin, laughs unseen in the kitchen.

“Is it some form of apology for your brother? Or your town?” says Tanis, scowling at whatever’s on Katy’s face, “No. That never even crossed your mind. Is it some sort of pity party? Poor little Tanis in her poor little house on the poor little rez, taking care of her poor little dad--”

“What are you talking about?” says Katy, shakily. She has no idea where all of this is coming from, the vitriol practically radiating from Tanis's every pore.

A check slaps onto the table, under Katy's nose. “I don’t take charity from anybody,” says Tanis, leaning in close, “Especially from a basic from Letterkenny.”

The door slams in a cacophony of shrilling bells. A moment later, the Employee Only door creaks open, and Tanis’s cousin pokes her head out.

“Shit, I forgot to give her her scarf,” says Kelsey, “Did you still want dessert, hun?”

“That’s okay,” says Katy, trying on a smile, “Can I get the check, please?”

\---

 _Taking care of her poor little dad_ echoes inside Katy’s head the entire way back, loud even with the stereo turned up to max, _Taking care of her poor little dad, poor little dad, poor little dad._

\---

“She wasn’t kidding about the early morning call,” says Wally, after Katy nearly pounds his door in. He looks greyer than Katy remembers, wan in what little early morning light filters through the trees. “Tanis isn’t here.”

“I know,” says Katy, shifting the crockpot of soup on her hip, “I came to see you. How’re you now?”

Wally shuffles back into the cabin, waving a hand for Katy to follow. She sets down the crockpot as he settles into a hand-carved chair, groaning a little. She’s just about to dash out to the car for silverware and bowls when Wally points at a dish rack hanging off the kitchen wall.

“Mind if I light up?” says Wally, as a he brings a Bic lighter to a joint clenched in his teeth. She watches him take one toke, than another. He blows the smoke away from her. “Lighten up, you look like you’re at a funeral.”

“I heard you weren’t feeling well,” says Katy.

Wally takes another deep inhale. The color’s starting to return to his cheeks. “Nothing a couple doctors with a giant X-ray machine can’t cure, I guess,” he says.

She draws a complete blank. X-ray machines? Wally says, “Why were you in Tanis’s kitchen every day, Katy?”

Katy sighs and fiddles in the spoon in her hand. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to be friends.”

“That’s good,” says Wally, puffing shallower now, “She could use more friends. She tends to bottle up what she’s feeling, you know.”

“Not like you at all,” says Katy, feeling bold, bolder still when Wally huffs a dry laugh, “So why’re the doctors shooting X-rays at you?”

“Cancer,” says Wally, simply. He rolls his eyes. “It’s not a death sentence. They point invisible rays at my gut, and it kills the cells a little faster than they can divide. But there’s only so much they can do at once. So it’s a lot of trips to the city, and in the meantime, a lot of weed.”

Jesus Christ on a pogo stick. She’d never asked where their weed came from, just assumed it came from the same place as the smokes they sold by the dart. The fact that was legal, much less grown by a caretaker of a cancer patient, never even crossed her mind.

“Sorry,” says Katy, aghast, “For using up all your weed. Fuck, I didn’t know.”

Wally shrugs. “Why? Only the fresh buds work. So what I can’t use, I sell.”

He takes another leisurely puff. “Besides, Tanis tells me you’ve been using trim.”

Katy shrugs. “No use in using the good stuff when we’re still experimenting. Plus, it’s plenty strong.”

Wally laughs.

“Eat your soup,” says Katy.

Wally eyes it warily. “Maybe in an hour.”

\---

Katy wavers in front of Tanis’s house for a good fifteen minutes. In the end, she slips the check under the door and leaves.

\---

Few things are social events like hockey games, and nothing's bigger than the biannual death match between the Letterkenny Shamrocks and the KMT Blizzards. Except, for, well, the rematch during play-offs when the Shamrocks make it. They’re getting ready to leave for the game when Katy hears the front door slam.

“The fuck did I say about stepping foot in Letterkenny,” says Wayne, as cold as a February morning.

“Is Katy here,” says Tanis, just as icily, and Katy comes flying down the stairs, before Wayne can decide whether his internal rule to never break a promise supersedes his rule to never hit a woman.

“I invited her,” says Katy, ducking around Wayne’s stiff elbow, “The truck’s still hitched to the horse trailer.” Jesus, it’s like a Mexican standoff out here. “Pitter patter!”

That gets Wayne moving, at least. Katy says, “How’re you now?” just as Tanis says, “I couldn’t find Gail.”

Katy opens her mouth to reply just as Tanis does, and there’s another awkward moment as they try to figure out who speaks first. Finally Tanis rolls her eyes and waves an irritated hand at Katy.

“Sorry about before,” says Katy, in a rush, “I didn’t know about your dad, and I didn’t mean for it to come off as charity. I just wanted us to be friends.”

“That still doesn’t tell me where Gail is,” says Tanis, but at least she looks a little more relaxed. “Also, you forgot your check. Again.”

She waves the piece of paper at Katy. Katy crosses her arms, “Nope, try again. I already cashed Gail’s check.”

Tanis flattens the check out and squints at it. “Fuck me. Even the pattern’s the exact same. Are there other banks in Letterkenny?”

“Nope,” says Katy, popping the ‘p’. It took her four ruined checks to write it out correctly. “It’s your cut of the deal.”

“Fifty-fifty split, eh?” says Tanis, “I don’t remember shaking on it. What if I wanted a sixty-forty split? I provided the ingredients.”

Katy’s jaw drops. “I _bought_ all the ingredients!”

“Except the weed. _And_ I provided the kitchen,” says Tanis.

“It was my idea,” presses Katy. “You’re lucky I didn’t collect a finder’s fee.”

Tanis throws her head back and laughs. “Not anymore. Check out the new merchandise.”

In the back seat of her car are a box of tiny glass bottles, filled with a bright red liquid and neatly labeled. Katy says, “Hail Mary Jane Hot Sauce, eh? That was still my idea.”

“Well then, you can help me sell it to Gail,” says Tanis, “Who’s still not at Modean's, by the way.”

“She’s at the rink,” says Katy. “Everyone’s getting drunk anyway, so why not on Gus n’ Bru?”

Tanis wrinkles her nose, unlocking her car doors. “You’re navigating. Try not to get too lost.”

“Got my ride to the game. Don’t wait up!” Katy yells up towards the shed, then to Tanis, “Well, partner? Pitter patter.”

**Author's Note:**

> And then they all got very drunk and high.
> 
> To in48frames, thanks for the prompt and Happy Holidays! It was a lot of fun to write, and I hope it was what you had in mind?


End file.
